


In Perpetuum et Unum Diem

by shealynn88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Ghost Castiel (Supernatural), Happy Ending, Haunting, M/M, MCD refers to Cas, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Real Estate Agent Dean Winchester, and therefore dead, and will not be resurrected in any way, brief Dean/Jesse, who is a ghost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: Dean Winchester is a successful real estate salesman with a great track record.Unfortunately, his latest listing comes with a very stubborn ghost attached.  In the course of trying to help Cas move on or at least let someone new but the place, Dean finds himself falling for the guy.And that's just the beginning.Based on atumblr post.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 73
Kudos: 67





	1. In which Dean has a poor grasp of Latin

**Author's Note:**

> This story is plotted out but not completely written.
> 
> I anticipate at least 10 chapters, likely more. If you have questions or concerns about the tags or the future of the story, please feel free to message me on [tumblr](https://shealynn88.tumblr.com/) and I can let you know if anything that is planned might be an issue.
> 
> Posting schedule is every other Monday, with additional chapters if I get substantially ahead.
> 
> If you came in early, you may have seen other pairing tags. I have decided this makes more sense as a series, so those tags will not come into play in this story, but will come in the second story in the series. It just makes more sense that way and gives me a breather between completed plotlines.

Dean met with the kid who was selling the place a week ago, but he likes to take a walk through on his own before he brings people in. It’s a good time to get his story straight, get a feel for the place. See if there are any areas that feel empty or dark, that he can fix with a lamp or a little table. He’s good at this part. Even Gabe says so.

He takes the key out of the lockbox on the doorknob and opens the door to reveal the hardwood floor and ecru walls of the entryway, and peeks into the kitchen before heading for the living room.

As he turns back toward the hallway, he catches sight of a fast moving dark form at the far end, with the shadow of the couch in the living room visible just _through_ its torso. “LEAVE THIS ABODE FOREVER, OR GREAT HARM-”

Terror floods through him, and his feet are already halfway to the door before he even processes that he's running. Dean is a brave soul with a brown belt in ju jitsu, but this is well beyond anything he’s signed up for. He slams the door behind him and runs as fast as he can to the car, starts her up and peels rubber on the way out.

“Shit, shit, _shit_. Holy shit. Holy. Shit.” His heart finally slows down as he hits the highway and points Baby back toward the office.

“Okay,” he tells himself softly. His hands are still shaking. “You can do this. It was some kid playing a prank. It was just some stupid kid, and you should have beat his ass, but it’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna go back there and kick him out and do the walk through like the god-damned adult that you are.”

He turns the car around, finally, and makes his way back to the deceptively peaceful house. He parks in the driveway, and takes many deep breaths. “You’ve got this,” he repeats softly.

He grabs the tire iron out of the trunk before he goes in. Just in case. 

The door is still unlocked - he was too busy running for his life to lock it behind him - so he sneaks in and takes a deep breath when the alcove is clear. Then he steps into the living room and the temperature plunges. 

_Shit._

“Whoever you are,” he warns loudly, brandishing the tire iron like his pounding heart isn’t about to vacate his chest. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“ENTER NOT, THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING,” the voice comes, and Dean just manages not to take off again as he spins around to see the dark form again - now more of a terrifying man-shape in a trenchcoat. Dean swings, hitting him right in the - no - right _through_ the chest, and the man looks shocked and then flickers out like a light.

The temperature evens out. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice wavering. “Take that.”

He walks a little bit further inside and then a wind picks up and a scream sounds - 

“GET OUT!!”

He can see his breath, suddenly, and shit has _escalated._

He remembers to lock the door behind him this time, hands shaking as he hopes that the ghost is stuck in the house like all the horror movies say; he’s still clutching the tire iron and trying not to die of a heart attack.

He stares at the house for a while from the safety of the impala.

“Angry ghost, angry ghost. Holy _fuck_.”

The house looks peaceful from here. No bloody handprints on the windows, no weird faces peering out of the attic. 

It had been fine when the kid had walked him through. Not a peep. Maybe the ghost liked the kid. Sure as fuck didn’t like Dean, though. 

Dean took a deep breath. Sam says he’s stubborn, but Dean likes to think of himself as being persistent. That’s it. He just doesn’t like to back down from a challenge.

Luckily, he has an idea.

* * *

“Hey, Sammy, how’s it hangin’?” he asks breezily when he calls his brother after dinner. 

He can hear Sam’s suspicion. “Hey, Dean. Good to hear from you. What do you want?”

“What? Why would I want something? I just wanted to chat with my baby brother.”

Sam laughs. “Nice try. You seem to forget that I know you. You hate the phone. Hate it. With a fiery passion. So, what can I do for you?”

Dean chuckles. “Okay, you caught me. I did want to talk to you, though. I...remember those weird journals you had from Grandpa Campbell?”

“Ha. God, yeah. Those were _nuts_!”

“Yeah, right? I was wondering if you still had them.”

“You’re nostalgic for Grandpa Campbell’s black magic journals?”

“Nostalgia’s a weird word. I just wanted to have a look at ‘em. It’s no big deal, really. I was just thinking about ‘em and how mom used to talk about him and stuff, and I guess...I just wanted to see.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says, and it’s clear he has no idea what’s going on with Dean but he’s willing to let the explanation stand, and that’s fine because Dean also has no idea what’s going on with him.

“Cool, I’ll stop by tomorrow and pick them up?”

“Yeah, we’d love to see you. Stay for dinner? We’ll make pie...”

“Oh, Sammy. It’s like you know me.”

He grins as they hang up. He doesn’t see enough of his brother. This is a weird excuse, but he’ll take it.

* * *

Dean enters the house with the book at the ready. He doesn’t even wait for the ghost to start in, he speaks right away, loud and with authority and trying not to stumble over the Latin he practiced last night but has no clue how to get his mouth around. 

“ _Exor-cim-cimatus te, omnis, immuno-cento, shit, immundus spiritus, omnis, satanica-”_

“BEGONE HUMAN! YOU CANNOT VANQUISH ME!”

But Dean’s on a roll now, he’s gonna get rid of this evil fuck just like crazy Grandpa Campbell used to. He speaks more loudly now, _“Cizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus! Omnis satanica potest- potest - fuck - potestacus, omnis incursio infernal -”_

“YOU CANNOT-” And then the ghost starts chuckling.

Dean looks up and the guy is still kinda translucent but he’s looking quite a bit more human now and he’s hiding his mouth with his hand and he is _definitely_ laughing. And not in an evil way. In a really obnoxious, grade school way. 

“The fuck, man?” Dean asks indignantly.

“I can’t. Your Latin is terrible, and I think that’s for demons. And it definitely wouldn’t work even if I _was_ one, because you are butchering the pronunciation. _Potestacus, omnis fuck…_ ” he starts laughing again and Dean snaps the book shut.

“So, what, Latin’s your native language or something?”

The ghost laughs harder. “Oh, no. I took a course in college. The conjugations were challenging. I really am benefiting now, though.” He shakes his head. “Nice try. Really. You’re very brave.”

“Uh… Thank you?” The ghost seems significantly less terrifying now, but definitely an asshole. 

Dean sighs and moves into the living room, taking a seat on the couch gingerly. Obviously a different approach is needed, here.

“Okay, look,” he finally says, rubbing a hand over his face. “We obviously got off on the wrong foot. I’m Dean, by the way. I’m supposed to be selling this house. It’s nice to meet you…” He nods at the ghost, feeling foolish.

“Castiel,” the ghost offers. He inclines his head. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas. Right. Cool. So...I’m trying to sell this house. You’re, I’m guessing, not excited about that. Is there any way I can help you...like...move on or whatever?”

The ghost shrugs and seems to perch on the arm of the couch. “Not that I know of. I like it here. I built this house. I’d really prefer that everyone _else_ moved on and let me live in it. Or… _be_ in it, anyway.”

Dean nods. Now they’re getting somewhere. “You built it? That’s amazing.” 

It really is. The house is stunning, and the main section, which has two additions, now, is solidly constructed - post and beam, and the headers are still visible in the kitchen. It’s one of the features he’ll highlight...

But, he’s getting distracted. “Look, the house is great, I can understand why you’d want to stay here. But, like, why didn’t you bother the kid who’s selling it?”

“Because that kid is my great-grandchild.”

“Okay, but the kid _wants_ to sell it.”

The ghost sighs. Dean didn’t know ghosts did that. “Look, I just don’t want a stranger in my house. Is that really so weird?”

Dean looks at him. “Dude. _All_ of this is weird.”


	2. In which Dean and Cas come to an agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean runs some new candidates for home buying past Cas and gets some flack from Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on track for posting every two weeks on Monday. If I get a little bit further ahead, I'll go weekly.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this 'getting to know you' chapter.

Dean yanks the door to his apartment closed and performs the daily battle with the lock. Humid days are the worst - the door gets swollen and he’s never sure if one day the door jamb is going to win. As it is, he hasn’t been able to throw the bolt for two months. 

He shakes his head. Sam keeps telling him to find another place, or buy something, but Dean’s still waiting for that right house in the right price range in the right neighborhood with a little bit of land...and it’s not looking like that’s going to happen anytime soon. The market is up, sure, and that’s great for commissions, but it also seriously limits his purchase options.

He won’t miss the place when he goes, but he doesn’t think that’ll be anytime soon.

* * *

Dean’s on his way to the ghost house — Cas’s house — when Gabe calls. 

Gabe’s voice is nasal and irritating, and irritated. _Winchester, what the fuck is taking so long with Pennyrose Lane? Seriously, that place should sell itself. Have you even gotten people to _look_ at the place yet?_

Dean sighs. “Yeah, boss, I know. It’s just got some quirks, I’m working it out.”

_Well, get your ass in here soon, all right? You’ve got two showings scheduled — Wenley and Haddock — and you can’t always count on Kevin to save your ass._

“Yup, got it. Oh, I think my signal—oh, I think I’m losing—Gabe?” He hangs up the phone and ignores the return call.

He can’t exactly explain Cas to Gabe. Granted, Cas isn’t really _hiding_ , so Dean isn’t going to struggle to convince the guy — it’s what comes after that he’s not too sure about. Gabe likes the quick turnaround, he’s not a big fan of fiddly negotiations. His solution would be something along the lines of ‘burn it down and collect the insurance money.’ Or, in this case, ‘give the keys back and wish the kid luck with another agent.’ 

But Dean’s got his teeth in the problem, now. He’s invested. He’s curious. He’s stubbornly committed to selling this house with everyone involved feeling good. 

Even Cas. 

Who is, frankly, another challenge all together. Weird-ass ghost in a trench coat. Hot and buttoned-up and see-through. He talks like an encyclopedia, has a dry, sarcastic sense of humor, and takes none of Dean’s shit. 

How can Dean resist?

Cas may be fussy and dead, but Dean made Bela Talbot happy with that monstrosity on Wendell. He talked that asshole Ketch down to a reasonable price for the Hascum’s. He can sell this house. 

As long as his boss can stop being a whiny micromanaging dick about it. 

Anyway, Dean’s making _progress_. Cas’s idea of the ideal buyer is narrow — he wants a family with one or two children — no more, no less. He never said they needed to like the house as-is, but Dean learned that lesson with the first family he brought in. The showing had gone swimmingly until the wife had mentioned that she’d want the built-ins in the living room torn out — and then two of the windows had burst open, the sink had sprung a leak, and ominous sounds had come from upstairs. 

They’d found another agent after that.

Still contemplating his options, Dean makes a pit stop at Mallory’s and gets his standard large dark roast and one of the horrifying confections Gabe likes so much—vanilla nut maple froofy something-or-other. Hopefully that’ll get the guy off his back until he figures out what exactly to do about the house.

Dean pulls up the driveway and slides the new files between the cups, balances the tray in one hand and unlocks the box to get the key with the other.

“Haha,” he mutters triumphantly. “Still got it.”

“Hey—” he calls as he makes his way inside.

“BE GONE—”

He jumps, like he does every single time, then closes his eyes, his jaw clenching in irritation. 

“Could you _not_ scream in my ear, please?” Dean manages, sliding the tray onto the kitchen island and turning back to grab a chair.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t realize…”

Cas trails off and blinks out of view. Dean spins around and finds him hovering over Gabe’s horrifying coffee, nose in the steam, huffing it like some sort of addict.

“Cas? Why are you accosting my boss’s coffee?” Dean says, and he’s trying to stay annoyed, but the ghost looks just...ridiculous hunched over the way he is, eyes closed like he’s savoring some Michelin star meal or something. 

Cas looks up at him, a wide smile on his face, eyelids at half-mast. It’s the happiest Dean has ever seen him. 

Not that it’s saying a whole lot, really. 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t realize it was you or I wouldn’t have yelled. This...whatever you brought smells truly divine. My granddaughter used to make a latte with spices in it, it was very similar to this. It’s wonderful, it reminds me of those happy times, when Alfie was small and the house was full of laughter.”

If it had been Sam — any of his friends, really — he’d have teased them mercilessly for being such a sap. 

But he’s not a monster, the guy’s a ghost for crying out loud.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, no problem. Just, you know, maybe check first. I would have hated to spill the coffee, you know?”

“Yes, of course.”

He’s back to the mug, sniffing with that look of ecstatic joy. If he were Dean’s type — which of course he isn’t, because Dean likes people with pulses, to start — but if he was, well this would probably get his attention.

“I brought some new files, have a look,” Dean says, pulling out the profiles on the two families that have shown interest in the house. “I think they’re promising. The Doans have two kids, older boys who need a yard to practice in—they both play baseball, I guess they’re pretty serious about it. They love old construction and they’re looking for a place to restore, not gut.”

Cas narrows his eyes suspiciously. “The house has been kept up very well, Dean.”

“Well then, I’m sure they won’t find anything that needs restoring. Maybe you can help keep it that way, you know?”

“Dean. I’m non-corporeal. Are you familiar with the term?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Ah, I’m not a _ghost-ologist_ , Cas, but I think I understand the general situation,” Dean says, dripping sarcasm.

“I’m fairly certain that isn’t a profession,” Cas says primly. “I mean that I can’t help them keep up on the house because I can’t _touch_ anything, which is actually quite frustrating when things go wrong and no one does anything.”

“Uh-huh. You can’t touch anything. So, that whole faucet leak—that was just...what, coincidence?”

Cas looked away, as if the living room window was suddenly fascinating. “Oh, right.”

“Right.” Dean nods and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“That was more of an emotional reaction, I think. I don’t control it, and so I can’t really use it to repair issues and suchlike.”

“Oh, gotcha. So, that plumber that I had come in, that I paid out of pocket because I didn’t want your great-grandkid to think I was destroying the place, that was because you got emotional?”

Cas fixes him with an icy ghost stare. “Yes, Dean, it was.” He looks away. “It was very kind of you to have it repaired, and I do appreciate it — Alfie can’t really afford those kinds of costs now that he’s going back to school. Anyhow, the fact remains that I can’t do anything here to physically maintain the house.”

Dean wants to be annoyed, but it’s hard when Cas is just so… _sincere_. He’s obviously involved in his family’s life — as much as he can be, being dead and all. He’s certainly doing a better job than John Winchester, alive and probably well, not that Dean would know, two states away and happy to be there with family number two.

Dean shakes his head. “Just, you know, try to tone it down a little bit. And check out these families, I think you’ll really like them. This one is the Miltons, a pastor and his wife, one daughter, they seem really interested in the history of the area. I feel like they’d really appreciate the house for the history it holds, you know? They’d really love the work you did.”

Cas shifts restlessly. “Yes, they sound very promising. I’ll consider them, of course.”

“That’s great.” Dean smiles over at him. “Really, Cas. You’re not going to regret this, you need someone here, right? To keep it up! To bring joy back in, like you were saying about when Alfie was a kid. It’s going to be great, Cas. You’ll see.”

He can tell Cas doesn’t believe him, but the ghost nods anyway. “Yes, thank you Dean.”

Dean wants to go for a reassuring shoulder slap, and just barely keeps from making an absolute idiot of himself. “I gotta run, buddy, I’ll stop by tonight and touch base, see what you think of these families before I bring them by, okay?”

Cas waves awkwardly and Dean finds himself grinning as he lets himself out.


	3. In which Cas is the one who helps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean could use some help and Cas has just the skillset he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so appreciative of all the lovely comments I got on the last chapter. I will respond to each one, I'm just in a weird spot mentally at the moment. BUT, each one is precious to me, so thank you!!

Dean juggles pamphlets and coffees while he unlocks the door.

“ENTER NOT, FOR I-“

Even expecting it, he jumps, then heaves a sigh. “Cas, c’mon! You know I have to sell this place, right?”

The ghost drops the act as Dean closes the door, a sour look on his face. “Well, bring someone decent, then. If they don’t like the workmanship of the house, they shouldn’t be looking at it. If _Jeff_ wants something ‘more authentic’, he can build his own damn cabinets! You’re lucky I didn’t give him a heart attack.”

“Hey, hey! You can’t murder a guy for not appreciating your woodworking! That’s maybe a little overkill, you know?”

The Doans had come off the list pretty quickly.

Cas huffs. “Why don’t you buy it? You like it well enough. You said your apartment is horrible.”

Dean laughs. “Are you kidding? Me and my five rich uncles, maybe.”

“Really?” Cas leans forward and Dean snorts a laugh before he catches the hopeful look on Cas’s face.

“No, Cas, sorry. I have exactly none rich uncles, man.”

The bitch face returns, more maudlin this time. “Fine. I’ll try to be nicer.”

“Hey, the day’s not a complete loss. I brought you a maple latte.”

The look of gratitude on Cas’s face is pure. A little heartrending. Noone’s done anything decent for the guy in too long.

Dean takes the top off the latte and Cas rushes forward, leaving wispy trails of tan in his wake. Then he’s bent over the cup to smell the steam, close enough that he’d have foam on his nose if he was corporeal. It’s whole milk and maple syrup and Gabe is going to think Dean is angling for a raise, the way he’s bringing him latte after latte these days.

But, sue him, he likes seeing Cas happy, and it’s such a small thing. It’s not like Dean’s attached or anything, it’s just that Cas is kind of cool and different and he knows a lot of weird stuff.

“Hey, you’re a woodworker, right?”

Cas glances up and Dean can tell that the coffee has done it’s job — there’s no trademark eyebrow raise to indicate that Dean has said something ridiculous.

Which of course, he has. “I mean, of course you are. But I just mean… Eh, don’t worry about it.”

“Did you need something?” Cas asks. “According to my calendar I’m free for the next...lifetime. Yours, obviously. Not mine.”

Dean grins before he can stop it. “Right, right. Funny guy. I’m just...I’m building a dollhouse for my niece’s birthday, and I thought it would be cool to add some period touches. You know? I just...I mean, I built a birdhouse in high school. Can’t be too hard. Just been a while, is all.”

He feels ridiculous for asking, suddenly. “That’s rude, huh? I can just google it or—”

“No!” Cas says, a little too loudly. “I mean, I could help you. I think. Maybe—do you want to bring it by? It’ll be easier if I can see it.”

“Really? That would be amazing. Honestly. You’re a lifesaver.” He grimaces. “That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine,” Cas says, glancing around the kitchen like he’s planning. “What style is the house? Do you have furniture? When is her birthday?”

Dean grins. “Good question, no, and next Saturday.”

“Plenty of time. We’ll make her something she’ll love.”

“Cas, you’re amazing. Thank you. What kind of beer do you like?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “The kind a dead person can drink, I guess?”

“I didn’t _forget_ , man, what do you take me for? I just mean, you know, you could smell it, maybe. Some of the stouts are really nice, or if you like the sours?”

Cas shakes his head. “That sounds very nice but I have no idea what that means. I do miss a good bourbon.”

“Bourbon, huh? A man of refined taste.”

Cas laughs. “Not so refined.” He waves a hand. “Surprise me, I would…” He sort of deflates in a way that makes Dean wish he could touch the guy. “It would be good to try something new.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes Dean look away. It’s wistful. Full. There’s some longing there that Dean finds himself wanting to fulfill. 

“Yeah, man,” he says, getting up. “I’ll see what I can find for your _sophisticated_ palate.”

* * *

Dean’s glad he hasn’t told anyone about Cas, because he knows, he just _knows_ , that neither Charlie or Sam would let him hear the end of this—hauling a half built dollhouse to a house he doesn’t own, to meet a dead guy he barely knows, at an hour he definitely wouldn't be going out otherwise. 

It’s for Mary, obviously. But he knows they wouldn’t see it that way. 

Anyway, he’s having fun. He hasn’t had a friend like Cas in a long time and it’s nice. Nothing wrong with that, enjoying someone’s company. He’s a ghost, for cryin’ out loud! It’s exciting!

When he gets to the door something in Dean’s gut roils around, same as when he’s at the custom’s place, looking at old parts for Baby, or the anticipation of an early morning on the water in the fall, fishing for trout, or when he finds that one person at Gabe’s stupid mixers who’s a shameless Zep fan.

For once, Cas doesn’t threaten him as he comes through the door. Which is good, because he’s got a bag of tools in one hand and a bag of booze in the other and he doesn’t really want to ding the hardwood or break any bottles.

“Dean!” Cas’s smile is wide and welcoming, and Dean grins back, ignoring that feeling in his stomach.

“Hey, Cas! Give me a minute to grab the house and we can get started.”

“Yes, of course.”

He brings the house in, half assembled, sets it in on the dining room table and then heads to the kitchen.

“I figure we’ll start with refreshments. I didn’t know what you’d have seen before, so I figured we’d do a little taste test.” He glances over to where Cas hovers and corrects himself. “Sniff test, I guess. Here, I got…” he pulls out the first three sample bottles and then rubs his hands on his jeans. He might have gone a little crazy. It was hard to know what Cas might like.

“Uh,” he continues. “I got some honey bourbon, some Bookers, some Jack Daniels Sinatra — couldn’t really resist that,” he says, grabbing the set of tiny solo cups he’d picked up out of the bag. He’s second guessing those. Cas has got to be used to sipping out of fine crystal, right?

His smile feels a little strained when he looks over at Cas, who’s watching him and not looking at the cups in utter disgust, so that’s something.

“Yeah, so, lets give these a whirl, huh?”

He sets out three of the solo cups, forcing himself not to wince at how cheap they look, and pours a tiny amount of each of the bourbons into them, swirling them and taking a quick sniff before sliding them over in Cas’s direction.

“Here’s the honey one, they recommended it and I thought it might have a nice smell to it, a little sweeter, you know?”

Dean watches Cas sniff it, going fuzzy like he does with the coffee — maybe it’s something about the concentration of it, or the sweetness.

“This is lovely, Dean, thank you.”

“Well, we’re not done yet, buddy. Hold onto your hat. Try the Sinatra. Am I ridiculous, was he even a thing for you?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “A ‘thing?’ He was a musician in my time if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dean hides his embarrassment by mimicking Cas. “‘ _If that’s what you’re asking_ …’ Yeah, that’s what I’m asking. I haven’t fully researched the life and times of Castiel yet, cause I’m trying to get your house sold to someone you don’t hate, you know? Priorities, man.”

Cas is looking down when Dean glances back over, and he suddenly feels like kind of a dick. Way to overreact, there.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be an asshole,” Dean mutters. “Tell me what you think of it.”

Cas watches him for a few long moments, Dean can see him out of the corner of his eye as he starts to pour the third one. Finally, Cas moves forward and sniffs, and that look of enjoyment crosses his face, the one that makes Dean feel accomplished, somehow.

“It’s very nice,” Cas tells him. “And I did listen to Sinatra. Hannah and I enjoyed it very much.”

“Hannah?”

“My wife.”

“Right, of course,” and he’d known, of course, that Cas had had a family, but the name, Hannah, hits differently. Made it real, somehow. Cas had been part of a family, a married man, a father, and now...what was he? All he had was this house, the last piece of his life, his family, and Dean is suddenly hit with how lonely it must be here, with everyone dead or moved on. 

And here’s Dean, trying to sell the house out from under him.

“I really will find you a good family,” Dean blurts out.

Cas tips his head, looking puzzled.

“For the house. I'm gonna find a good fit for you. You deserve that, after building it from the ground up, having your family here—your wife and your kids, your grandkids. That’s really amazing, and I just want you to know—I’m gonna make sure you get a good fit.”

Cas raises his hand briefly, like he wants to touch Dean, and then he lowers it. “Dean. That’s very kind. I…” he sighs. “I know I don’t really have a right to ask anything of you. Or the next family. It’s just...I’ve been here so long, it’s hard for me to let go.”

“Well, yeah, of course, Cas. Like you said, you built this thing, that’s amazing! I mean, look at me! I just mixed up the dormer and the porch roof, and now I’m going to have to see if I can wedge it apart somehow and try again. And you built _this_. I can’t even imagine.”

Cas is looking embarrassed, now, looking around at anything but Dean. He sighs. “I mean, I did build it, but not the way you say. I didn’t...cut down a forest and make a house out of it, if that’s what you’re thinking. I ordered it. From Sears. And then my brothers and Hannah’s brothers and I put it together.”

“What?” 

“It’s just...you seem to think I know a lot about hand hewn beams and things, and I’m afraid I don’t. I think...you have a very high opinion of my skills and perhaps you shouldn’t. I have skills, I can definitely be of assistance, it’s just...I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

Dean puts down the sandpaper. “Okay, wait. One—I love that you feel like this somehow makes the house less impressive. Because, dude, this thing?” He points at the dollhouse, currently in three pieces, “is a tiny, simplified facsimile of a house, and I have fucked it up at least five times. And that’s _today_. Your house is an amazing feat and stop trying to tell me it’s not.”

Cas opens his mouth and then shuts it, and Dean doesn’t really want to know what he has to say to that in any case.

“And two — you ordered a house? By mail? From _Sears_? Like, what, like Lincoln logs? How on earth did that work?”

Cas laughs, relaxed, and Dean feels his shoulders drop as well. “It must seem strange to you, now, but, yes, from Sears, and no, not Lincoln logs. You’ll find it did prepare me well, however, for reading directions,” and he points out where Dean is about to attach the dormer out of order, and ruin any chances he has for getting the shingles in afterward.

“See that?” Dean says, feeling warm all over. “This is why I needed your help.”

Cas smiles. “Thank you, Dean. It is wonderful to have you here. I do hope I’ve been of some use.”

Dean looks up and catches Cas’s eyes, and he forgets for just a moment that Cas isn’t really here, not all of him, that their relationship is transitory, temporary, just like Cas himself. 

He takes a deep breath. “More than you know,” he says finally, and gets back to work.


	4. In which a deal falls through and a house is loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets bad news from the home inspector, visits his brother on a special occasion, and gets a call from someone unexpected.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean says as he reads the report. “Kevin, I gotta run, we’re clear for the afternoon, right?”

Kevin glances at his monitor and looks up at Dean. “We’ve got one at three, I’ll take them.”

“Thanks, man, you’re the best. I have to see what happened with this inspection.”

“Yeah, it’s fine, whatever,” Kevin says as the door swings shut behind Dean.

_Weakness in the crawlspace, suspect structural damage,_ Dean replays in his head all the way to the house.

“Cas!” he yells as he opens the door, shaking the inspector’s report in one hand. “You want to explain this to me?”

The ghost, typically fully formed and ready to scare people off as soon as the door opens, trails slow wisps into the hallway. They form his trenchcoat, his hands, and then his crestfallen face.

All the anger drains from Dean. “What happened? I thought you liked the Miltons?”

“I did,” Cas says miserably. “But there was a raccoon family. They were all gone, but there was one, it was stuck in the crawlspace, Dean. It was terrified! The mother couldn’t get to it with the inspector there and..well, I panicked.”

Dean collapses on the pristine couch and rubs his face, hiding a smile. “You are…”

“I know.”

He _doesn’t_ know. He’s infuriating. He’s sweet. He’s unexpected. He’s a _ghost_.

“I have to sell it, Cas.”

“I know.” Cas sits beside him meekly.

“Hey,” Dean says, and then he just spits it out before he can get any further. “Can you leave the house at all? Like, outside?”

Cas looks up. “Did you want to take a walk?”

_No._ “Umm...yeah. Clear my head. We’ll figure it out, you know.”

“Thank you, Dean. It’s kind of you to say.”

Dean looks at him, wishes for the millionth time he could grab his shoulder and offer him some sort of reassurance. “I mean it, man.”

Cas gives him a small smile and a nod, and they walk out the front door and across to the driveway and down to the road. 

“I can only go to the tree,” Cas says, nodding at the big oak that stands in the yard across the street. “It used to be ours, but when the road got paved they moved things around.”

Dean feels a strange sort of elation. “You can cross the road?”

“A little bit. Why? I think that’s normal for a ghost,” Cas tells him. "I’ve heard things about running water, but I don’t think that’s true. I can cross the creek in the backyard, too.”

Dean grins, suddenly overjoyed. “You’re such a nerd,” he says affectionately, and heads for the back of the property, Cas floating alongside him.

“I don’t know why crossing a creek makes me a nerd.”

Dean laughs. “No, not...nevermind.” He shakes his head. “So, was the baby okay?”

Cas looks over at him, brows pulled together in question.

“The raccoon baby. The one in the attic.”

Cas laughs softly. “Yes, it was fine. Once the inspector left, the mother came and took it out to the rest of the family.”

Dean smiles. “I’m glad it worked out okay.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. They just weren’t the right ones, is all. Nothing to worry about. Wanna show me the creek? I don’t think I’ve gotten the original owner tour out here.”

Cas smiles at him and ducks his head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

* * *

“Admit it, Sam,” Dean says, taking a sip of his beer while he watches Mary show her friends the dollhouse. “I’m the best uncle.”

Sam shakes his head, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I mean, you absolutely outdid yourself,” he admits. “And you _built_ it.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, man. I built it.”

“All by yourself.”

Dean shrugs. “Hey, you know, sometimes you bring in an expert—“

“Ha! I knew it! You had a ringer!”

“Hey, now, it’s not like that! Just a friend with some skills to help walk me through it. I promise I placed every piece. What, you don’t believe I can manage a _dollhouse_ , Sammy?”

Sam shrugs. “Look, if it was some hacked up radio alarm, sure. But it’s always been more about the prank factor than the aesthetics with—“ he looks over with wide eyes. “Dean, tell me you haven’t set some horrible trap in that house. Is it clowns? I will literally, _actually_ kill you if it’s clowns.”

“Dude!” Dean is horrified. “I wouldn’t do that to a kid! Jesus!” He huffs and takes a drink. “I save that shit for you.” He grins slyly and Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Of course you do. Anyhow, you and your mystery friend did a nice job. It looks great and she loves it. She’s showing everyone that design in the shingles up there, and the bushes that are ‘just like the ones out front.’”

Dean grins. “Yeah, wish I could take credit for that. It was all Cas, he asked about what you guys had around here, said she’d love it personalized, and man, he was right.”

Sam is looking at him, head tipped in a ‘do tell’ angle when Dean glances over. 

He swears under his breath. 

“Cas, huh?”

“Yup,” Dean says firmly. 

“Must be a pretty good friend to help you with a doll house.”

Dean shrugs. “I guess. We just got talking about houses and it came up.”

“Another agent?” Sam asks. 

Dean fishes for an answer. Sam and Gabe know each other from high school, Dean can’t trust them not to compare notes. And Sam is notorious for his _‘let’s grab a beer and shoot the shit with your new friend, Dean’_ methods of being nosy. 

“Yeah, met him online...real estate site.”

“They have chat rooms for that?”

Dean has no idea. “Yup,” he says confidently, watching Mary show off the wainscoting he’d installed in the living room. That, at least, had been his idea. 

“Huh,” Sam says, looking puzzled but not suspicious. 

Dean relaxes. 

“You guys video chat?”

Dean thinks it through, can’t find a way Sam can pick that apart. “Yeah. So I could show him the pieces and stuff.”

Sam nods. “Sounds like a really good friend.”

Dean takes a deep breath and then a long pull on his bottle. 

“He is.”

Sam looks over Dean’s shoulder and raises his beer. “Hey! Charlie!”

The little redhead bounces into Sam’s arms and then turns to throw herself at Dean with abandon. “Dean! I’m so glad to see you! It’s been forever!"

"All right, drama queen, easy on the wine coolers.”

She digs an elbow into his ribs with expert precision and he winces, forcing himself not to rub the site of the attack.

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” she insists. “I’m happy to see you! Is that allowed?"

He rolls his eyes and smiles despite himself as they all watch the kids chasing each other around the folding tables. “I guess it has been a while,” he admits.

“And it’s perfect that I ran into you here because I just met this guy, Jesse, and he is the absolute sweetest! I think you’ll love him!”

“Oh no,” he says, holding up a hand and glaring at her. “You are not setting me up again.”

“Dean—” she begins reasonably.

“No, no. I said last time—”

“Oh, Charlie!” Sam interjects as if he’s just thought of something. Dean is about to thank him when Sam continues, “ask him about Cas.”

“ _What?_ What are you even—” Dean manages, and then Sam points to the kids and grins.

“Oh, looks like it’s almost time for cake, see you in a few,” and he makes a hasty exit. 

Dean turns back to find Charlie looking up as him with wide, innocent eyes. “Cas?” she asks. 

Dean sighs. “He’s a friend, okay. An online friend—no, not like that, Charlie. Head outta the gutter.”

He tells her the same story he told Sam, and when he’s finally convinced her that Cas isn’t his boyfriend and he doesn’t think of him that way, _really_ , she smiles and kisses him on the cheek.

“Great! I’ll tell Jesse we’re on for next Thursday!”

* * *

Dean gets a call that evening from Alfie. “Hey, Mr. Winchester. I just wanted to see if you’ve had any offers yet?”

“No, not yet,” Dean tells him. He should have called, he knows he should have, but he hates not having good news. “It can take time, but the house is in great shape, it’s just a matter of finding the right fit.”

“Yeah, right. I get it, it’s no problem. Hey, one of my mom’s friends wants me to show it to her. Do you need to be there? She wants to go tomorrow afternoon. I don’t have classes so probably around three?”

“Uhh,” Dean stalls as his mind races. Cas doesn’t show up around Alfie and of course that’s good for the showing, but Alfie doesn’t know what Cas wants—doesn’t even know Cas exists! “Hey, y’know what? I can meet her over there, no big deal. You don’t need to take time out of classes to show her.”

“Well, she asked me to come along, she wanted to get a ‘vibe’ for the place, she said.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind if I show her around. It’s literally my job. Least I can do.”

Alfie laughs nervously. “Guess you don’t know Rowena, then. I’m coming. She insisted. Will we see you there?”

“Absolutely,” Dean says with a stilted laugh. “That’s why you listed with me, right?”

Alfie sighs in something that sounds like relief. “Thanks, Dean. See you tomorrow.”

Dean hangs up with a feeling of dread.


	5. In which Dean is left flat-footed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shows the house, or rather...Dean opens the door and Rowena shows herself around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and your feedback, you're all fabulous and appreciated!!! I'm hoping to post at least weekly through November, I'm working on this (and a few other WIPs) for NaNoWriMo. I did add a new tag and increase the total chapters to 12, since I realized I needed some things to happen before what I had planned for chapter 6 (now 7). Thanks again, I hope you enjoy!

Dean’s first impression of Rowena is that she’s small, redheaded—kinda like Charlie. 

His second impression is that she is _nothing at all_ like Charlie.

Where Charlie is frenetic, Rowena is composed, where Charlie is friendly, Rowena is...cool. And she is _very_ sure of what she wants and what’s important to her. From the moment Dean opens the front door, she strides in like she already knows the layout. Dean trails after her, Alfie bringing up the rear.

“This is the original construction, correct?” Her brogue is strong and oddly soothing. She takes charge easily, leaving Dean feeling a little off kilter. He’s not sure whether to hope for Cas to show or not.

“Yeah, this part, the dining room and the kitchen are the original house, the parlor is an add on, and the third and fourth bedroom.”

She nods, smiling broadly as she takes in the large room. “Very nice, good southern light. I grow herbs, you know. And some flowers. This is perfect for it.”

“Do you have any family joining you?” Dean asks, trying to see if she fits Cas’s needs.

Her face goes shuttered for a moment, and the look when she meets Dean’s eyes is...chilling, honestly. “I did. My son passed a few years ago. But even so, I think the house will find me a good fit.”

There’s a creak upstairs and the couch rattles slightly.

“Now, now,” she says cheerfully. “Don’t want to scare young Alfie, do we, dears?” She turns back while Alfie looks at Dean in confusion. 

Dean shrugs and gestures Alfie to follow along as Rowena strides over to the built-ins around the fireplace. 

“Custom, aren’t they?” she asks, running a long finger along the simple beaded edge of the framing. “Beautifully done, still sturdy and gorgeous after so many years.” She turns to Dean and fixes him with a meaningful stare. “They just don’t make them like they used to, do they?”

“No, they do not,” he agrees, and he can’t help but feel his uncertainty cool a bit as she recognizes Cas’s handiwork.

She leads them through the rest of the house, asks if the wide planks in the master bedroom are original and Dean smiles, recalling Cas’s tale of his hopeful wife and her two brothers taking an old bus up north to pick up the raw wood. He couldn’t say no after that, apparently, so he put in another month of evenings and weekends to finish the boards and install them. 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Rowena asks, eyebrows arched, mouth pressed thin. 

“Yes, I’m sorry, yes. They’re original. Locally sourced. You can’t find anything like that, now.”

“Indeed you cannot,” she agrees with a small smile. She claps her hands once. “All right, boys, you’ve convinced me. Well done. Where do I sign?”

A window blows open in the bedroom and Dean starts. “I’ll get it,” he says, and rushes off to close it. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, cranking the window closed. “Let me talk to her and find out more. She loves the house. She appreciates all the work you did. It’s…” a realization hit him suddenly, painfully, knotting in his chest. When the house sells, he doesn’t know if Cas will want to see him again. 

He swallows. “It’s gonna be all right, you’ll see.”

His feet are leaden as he walks Alfie and Rowena back to her car. 

“Don’t you worry,” Rowena tells him quietly after Alfie’s in the passenger seat. “I’ll take good care of it. All of it.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, of course. I mean, I think it’ll be a great fit for you.”

* * *

“She waived the inspection,” Dean says, helpless and a bit numb. “Cas, there’s nothing I can do.”

The ghost is clearly moping and pretending not to. “It’s fine, Dean,” he sighs. “I just want Alfie to be all right. You’ll make sure he gets enough for it, right?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, we talked about it. She’s offering a fair price.” _Way more than I’d ever be able to_ , he doesn’t say. “Closing in two weeks. That’s super fast, Alfie will have a check in hand before next semester, no problem.”

Cas’s shoulders fall. “That’s wonderful news, Dean, thank you. It’s really the best I could have hoped for.”

Dean doesn’t point out that he’d been hoping for a lot more. “At least she really loves the place, you know?”

Cas nods. “Yes, of course. That’s important to me.”

He’s a terrible liar.

Dean drags himself up from the floor—the staging furniture has all been cleared away now that the house is all but sold. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and Cas’s face lights up with a smile that literally takes Dean’s breath away.

“I look forward to it, Dean,” Cas tells him, and Dean tries not to grin like a fool as he heads out the door.


	6. In which Dean has a decision to make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has no earthly reason to go back to the house after it's sold...but when has that ever stopped him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this week's chapter is so late! I'm still planning to post weekly at least for November, hopefully back to Mondays after this! I have to determine what fits best in what chapters at the moment. Some more challenging chapters coming up, but I promise it'll all be all right!
> 
> It's looking like Rowena and Cas might be having some important conversations. They wouldn't directly be part of this story, but they would tie in and fill in some gaps, potentially. Would you be interested in reading those? What would be preferable? I could post them here as 'Interlude' chapters, or I could post them as a separate fic and just link them in. I look forward to your thoughts!

Charlie’s friend, Jesse, is nice. Big guy, quiet. Dean notices right away they’re dressed like twins—Dean in his green flannel, Jesse in his black, and Charlie is beaming across the table any time she’s not giving Gilda the doe-eyes. Dean doesn’t want to disappoint her, and he doesn’t want to hurt Jesse, either. But his heart just isn’t in it.

“Right, Dean?” Charlie says.

Dean shakes his head. “What’s that? Sorry, I was just thinking about this thing at work.”

Charlie arches an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “I was saying that we could try that steakhouse, Ricardo’s, next time. They have a really nice vegetarian selection for Gilda, too. We ate there last week and the pasta was amazing. That would be fun, right?”

Dean flashes her a weak grin. “Yeah, sounds great.”

Jesse shakes his hand at the end of the date, and Dean smiles at him, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry, man. Just got a lot on my mind, you know?”

“Not me, it’s you?” Jesse asks with a half smile. 

“One hundred percent, it is.”

Jesse shrugs. “I may not be in the best place for it myself,” he admits. “You just get out of a relationship, too?”

Dean feels abruptly worse. He’s supposed to be helping this guy get over someone, and he’s stuck in his head over the house, and Cas, and how he’s supposed to keep talking to a ghost when the ghost can’t leave and he has no excuse to be there anymore.

“No, no. Nothing like that. Just work, like I said. Tell you what? Let’s go grab that steak with Charlie, huh? Nothing serious, just, get out of the house. Promise I’ll be better company, okay?”

Jesse smiles, and Dean can’t help but smile back. _If things were different._ “I’d like that. See you then.”

Dean nods and they walk to the parking lot together. Jesse grabs his shoulder before he goes. “It was good to meet you, Dean.”

“You too, man,” and he means it.

* * *

Charlie gets reservations for two weeks and it’s just as well, because Dean is busy working with lawyers and getting all the paperwork set for Cas’s house. 

_Cas’s house._ Not for long.

Rowena’s paperwork moves through effortlessly. Every day he’s got something else coming through to initial, confirm, sign. The title search goes through in two days—he’s never seen anything like it.

And it feels like time is slipping away from him. Time with Cas. Time that he shouldn’t want or need, but does anyway.

He drives up to the house two days before the closing. Idles under the tree across the street, and stares. He can’t just do this forever. Even if Cas wanted to, what would be the point, right? After Wednesday, he won’t have keys. He won’t have any right to be there according to the living, legal inhabitant. No more coffee in the morning at the island. No more building things on the dining room table. It’s someone else’s space, now, or will be. There’s no room for him here.

He starts the impala up, chest heavy, and jumps when Cas speaks from the passenger seat. “Dean.”

“Cas, what the—fuck! You can’t sneak up on people like that!”

Cas smiles. “You used to say I needed to quiet down.”

Dean takes a deep breath to slow his pounding heart. “Somewhere in the middle, I think, is the way to go.” He finds himself staring. 

Cas doesn’t look away.

“You, ah. You saw me out here, huh?”

Cas nods. “I felt the car, the engine is very distinctive. I was expecting you to come in. I…” His face drops suddenly. “I hope I’m not keeping you.”

“No,” Dean says. “No, not at all. I’m glad to see you. As always. How's it going?”

“It’s fine. I think everything will be fine,” he says, sounding unconvinced. “I expect it will be nice and quiet.”

“She doesn’t look like someone who drinks lattes,” Dean says.

Cas smiles again. “What do people who drink lattes look like?”

Dean points at Cas and they laugh. “Guess I’ll just have to keep bringing them by for you sometimes. Wouldn’t want you to waste away,” he jokes, immediately regretting his word choice. “I didn’t mean—” 

Cas reaches toward him and then draws back. “I know. It would be very enjoyable to see you again, Dean. I know you must be very busy. Work, and Sam and his family, all your friends. But I am eternally grateful for all the time you’ve been able to share with me. It’s really felt…” He trails off. “It’s been very nice, Dean. Whatever happens, however often you can stop by will be appreciated. Truly.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas,” Dean tells him firmly, and Cas gives him a tremulous smile and nods before he fades away.


	7. In which Dean makes a promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes a promise to Cas to live it up, and then does his best, even when his heart isn't in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a huge and potentially difficult chapter. I actually cried writing the end of it. But I promise, it's all uphill from here.
> 
> Warnings for: internalized homophobia, anticipated homophobia, Dean/Jesse (not explicit), highly emotional scene.
> 
> Details in the end notes if you need them.

He’s still waiting for Cas in the morning, his stomach doing calisthenics while he mainlines coffee, when he sees Rowena walking down the stone walkway. She hits the driveway and keeps coming, moving easily in heels that look like stilts. She’s headed _right for him._

He panics briefly, considers driving away, and then reminds himself he’s allowed to park on the road. He’s not doing anything wrong. It’s not like he’s stalking.

What if she thinks he’s _stalking_?

She reaches the car while he argues with himself, and taps on the glass with one perfect red nail.

He rolls the window down a few inches. “Can I help you?” he asks.

She laughs softly. “Oh, I think that’s my line, isn’t it? You parking out in front of my house and all?”

He puts his hands up, ready to explain...somehow, when she laughs again.

“Are you having an affair with my ghost, then?”

“ _Your_ ghost?”

She chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come inside, won’t you? Man cannot live by coffee alone, or so I hear. And I think you’ll be more comfortable on the couch. I just made shortbread. Cas tells me it smells divine. And he should know, shouldn’t he?”

Dean barely hears her, he’s grinding through excuses and then he hears Cas’s name and looks up, and she’s still going on about the shortbread and he’s nodding before he can think better of it.

“Just pull around, dearie,” she tells him. “Let’s not scare the neighbors.”

“The neighbors,” he repeats dumbly. “Right.”

He pulls around as he’s told and follows Rowena to the front door, much as he had when he showed her the house.

“Dean,” Cas greets him with what seems to be concern as he walks in the door, and Dean is relieved to see him. Having someone else know about Cas, what he is, and where he is—it’s a tightness in his chest, like he’s given away a secret.

“Hey, Cas, I hear there’s shortbread and tea, huh? You’ve got a hell of a roommate.”

Rowena laughs behind him, high and bright. “You don’t know the half of it! But it’s all fine, now. Castiel has gone and made an honest witch of me.”

“Witch?”

“In the flesh, dearie!” She turns to the stove and puts the kettle on. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just means I can sense your ghostly friend. Do sit down, won’t you, I’ll bring you a cuppa in a moment.”

“Uh...thank you?”

She gives him a wide smile and he makes his way into the living room, a little nervous despite himself. “Is she for real?” he asks under his breath.

Cas is on the couch next to him suddenly, and Dean manages not to jump completely out of his skin. “ _Jeez_ ,” he mutters, stifling some other choice words.

“She does appear to be for real,” Cas tells him seriously. “She has some degree of control over...whatever I am, or wherever I am.”

Dean feels a chill go through him. He lowers his voice to the barest whisper. “Are you okay? Is she...is she like...a devil worshiper or something?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. At least, not as far as I can tell. I think she’s just lonely. We’re all right, Dean. It’s fine.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “All right, then. Just, you know, tell me if there’s a problem. I’ll figure something out, okay?”

Cas smiles. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Here you are, now,” Rowena says, setting down a small plate and a cup of tea, and then sitting across from him with another cup, staring at him expectantly.

* * *

Cas meets him back in the car after Rowena grills him like an overprotective mother.

“She wanted to get into contact with her son,” Cas says with no lead in.

It takes Dean way longer than it probably should to remember she’d mentioned losing her kid. _Shit_. “She...you can do that?”

Cas sighs. “She thought I knew something, or she could use my ‘ghostly energy’...honestly, I’m not entirely sure. She just doesn’t seem to have accepted that he’s gone. It’s obviously hard to have lost someone—I watched my family mourn me, and then I mourned them in turn. I imagine it’s even harder when you lose a child while you live. Apparently she didn’t have a good relationship with him, and she wanted to talk it through him. I think she just wants closure. Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do for her.” He shrugs, looking out the window. “You’d think I’d remember, being a ghost and all, that nothing is guaranteed. That you only have one life to live—as far as I can tell, anyway—and you really do need to make the best of it. You can’t wait. You can’t just...hope.” He looks over, fixing Dean with bright eyes. “You have to go out there and get what you want from life. Because you never know how long you have.”

Dean opens his mouth and doesn’t know what to say. “Uh. Yeah. For sure. Are there...were there…”

Cas nods at him to go on. 

“Would you have done it differently?”

Cas smiles, strained. “I wouldn’t have thought so? I thought I did it the right way—built a good life, a good family, a good home. But...if that were true, why am I still here? Why am _I_ still here, and Fergus has managed to make it to the great hereafter?”

“Fergus?”

Cas looks over at him. “Rowena’s son.”

“Huh. You think that’s it, that you did something wrong?”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know what else to think. My wife passed on, here. My daughter. Two of my grandchildren. And this hasn’t turned into a family affair. What else could it be? Why else would I be trapped here?”

“Is it so bad?” Dean asks, and God, he knows he’s pathetic because _wow_ this is not about him at all, but he can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. As if he thinks that somehow _he_ can make up for a guy being eternally stuck inside his old home, watching people leave him over and over. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Stupid question.”

“There are good things about it,” Cas tells him with a soft smile. He gazes into the distance for a long moment. “Promise me something?”

“Yeah, what can I do?”

Cas looks over, fixes him with a stare. “Live your life. Do what you want to do. What you’re _meant_ to do. Don’t leave it undone.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “That’s a hell of a promise, man.”

Pain crosses Cas’s face before he looks away. “I know. It’s unfair, and it doesn’t actually solve the problem.” He sighs again. “I just don’t want this to happen to anyone else. Especially you.”

Dean chuckles. “Especially me, huh? Yeah, that could be a nightmare, getting stuck with me for an eternity.” It’s more bitter than he’d intended.

“That’s not what I meant. I just want good—” 

Dean waves it off. “No, I know. I was just messing with you. Hey, I appreciate it. If anyone needs a boot in his ass to keep growing, it’s probably me. Maybe you’re supposed to be my guardian angel, huh? Help me get unstuck? Maybe _I’m_ your ticket to the next world.”

Cas shrugs, smiles. “It’s as good a theory as any I’ve come up with.”

“All right, then,” Dean resolves. “I’ll do it. Live it up, see if we can’t get you beamed up, eh, Scotty?” He chuckles and then laughs out loud when Cas looks at him quizzically.

“Have Rowena show you Star Trek. It’s worth it, I swear.”

Cas laughs uncertainly. “I trust you.”

Dean swallows. “All right, man, I’ve gotta get going. If you need me to talk to the witch, let me know. I don’t really want her doing spells or whatever on you, you know? Gotta make sure she doesn’t fuck up my angel, right?”

Cas laughs, his dour mood seeming to lift. “I’ll let her know not to ‘fuck up’ your ‘angel’.”

“You do that. In the meantime, I’m gonna live it _up_ , buddy.”

“Good,” Cas says firmly, and then he’s gone.

* * *

The conversation plays through his head the whole day. It feels oddly timely, since tonight is his second date with Jesse. He’s still not exactly excited about it, but hey, he promised to seize the day, right? So, he’ll seize it.

He wears a blue t-shirt with a new flannel—why mess with a classic, he finally decides. And he contemplates a long while before shaving and throwing on a light cologne. He looks good, or so people tell him, but it doesn’t hurt to show a guy you put some effort in.

He’s even got some low grade jitters when he parks at the steakhouse. It’s not full-fledged teenage butterflies, but it’s more than he’s felt for a while—maybe it really is just a case of giving it a chance.

Charlie’s already texted they’re running a few minutes behind, so he meets Jesse at the bar and he actually asks about the guy this time, has a conversation, buys him a fancy microbrew and enjoys his wry sense of humor.

By the time Charlie grabs him in a hug from behind, he’s halfway to a buzz and they’ve managed to while away 20 minutes, no problem.

He can do this. He can live it up. He can do this for Cas.

The cold feeling that rises up when he thinks of Cas doesn’t go away until the appetizers arrive and he’s another beer in.

He grits his teeth and dives back into conversation—how did Jesse and Charlie meet, how long has he been in the area, what does he like to do?

On paper the guy is perfect. Funny, likes the outdoors, enjoys a brew and a burger, a man’s man—literally. They get along well enough, and if Dean didn’t have to wrench his attention back from thoughts of Cas, they’d probably get along even better. He orders another beer, and another, until he’s too buzzed to worry anymore, and it gets late and the check comes and they split it four ways and he and Jesse are staring at each other in the parking lot.

“Look,” Jesse says quietly. “It’s probably too soon, but I’m just gonna say it. Do you want to come back to my place? I had a good time tonight. I wouldn’t mind if it kept going.”

Dean’s stomach plummets. He remembers his promise. “Yeah, man. Me, too. I’m, uh, not sure I should be driving quite yet, though. You all right?”

“Yeah,” Jesse tells him. “I come this way for work, I can drop you off in the morning, or if you need to head out beforehand, I can get you an uber or something.”

Dean shrugs it off. “Sounds good.”

He likes Jesse, he really does, and the guy knows what he’s doing, and Dean tells himself it’ll come together soon, it’ll all fall into place and he won’t keep thinking about a ghost while someone else has hold of his dick.

* * *

He wakes up late, and by the time Jesse drops him off at his car, his choices are to shower and change his clothes or drop by and see Cas on his way to work.

He chooses the clothes and the shower. Wasn’t it Cas who told him to live his best life? Isn’t that what he was doing? He nearly orders a latte at the coffee shop on his way through, realizing only at the last minute. It’s weird how these small things have just made their way into his life. 

He shrugs. Habits come and go, and this one is the same. It’s just that they’ve seen each other every day for the past three months, and they already have a new routine…

He wonders if Cas misses him.

He takes his 9:30 appointment on a showing, all smiles, all professional, and tries not to think about Cas and Jesse, and how nothing feels quite right.

* * *

Dean pulls up, schooling his face, reminding himself that he did exactly what Cas asked him to do. He lived his life, he took a chance. That’s all. 

It still feels wrong, makes his stomach sour.

He pastes on an easy smile and pops the cap off the coffee, and when he looks up, Cas is sitting next to him with a wide, easy smile that makes his stomach flip.

“Hey, Cas, I’m so sorry about yesterday,” he says, keeping his voice light. “I was late ‘cause I had a date, and it went well and…” he wiggles an eyebrow. “Well, you know. Anyway, I got up late and I had to get to work and I, uh, I can’t exactly text when there’s a change of plan.”

Cas sort of freezes, glitches, and then he’s back with a smile. “Oh, a date. That’s great, Dean. I’m happy for you. You should, ah, tell me about it.”

Dean wonders if Cas sees the way he glitches, as well. It feels weird to talk to Cas about it. Almost as weird as it had felt going home with Jesse. Even though Cas had more or less told him to do it, it feels oddly disloyal. And now, he realizes that Cas has no idea he’s bi, and at best won’t get it and at worst will think he’s some possessed deviant, but he doesn’t want to lie, either.

“Dean? You don’t have to, if you don’t want. But, I don’t _mind_. I had a good, full life with my family. I have no intention of being jealous of yours.”

“Yeah, yeah. I mean, you said live it up, right?” He runs through a million scenarios in his head, a million ways to say it, or lie and replace pronouns or otherwise edit this into something, and it’s insane because he’s been out for almost twenty years now, but it’s as terrifying as telling his family when he was fifteen and wanted to bring a boy home.

“I...yeah, it was good. His name is Jesse, he’s a good guy. We, ah, met through a friend, she’s always trying to get me to go on double dates and I guess she just—” Dean dares to glance over and his stomach drops out.

Cas looks stunned, eyes wide and mouth doing something silent and repetitive, and he looks...pained. Somehow, like Dean has _wounded_ him, and it’s horrifying.

“Cas?”

“A...man?”

“Yeah. I, um, I get that’s probably weird for you, huh?”

“I, ah. I have to go.” And he flickers out of existence, and Dean feels like he’s been gutted.

He waits almost twenty minutes in silence before he drives away.

* * *

It feels like a breakup. He can’t eat, he can’t sleep. He does finally call Jesse when he knows he’s at work. A shitty out, he knows, but it’s better than nothing. Thanks him for the outing but something came up. _It’s not you, it’s me,_ and God, he feels like an asshole. He ignores calls and texts from Charlie. He goes to work and does the bare minimum, and Gabe sends him home early the second day. _No one wants to buy a house from a sadsack, Dean-o. Figure out your shit and I’ll see you tomorrow._

And it’s obviously foolish because there’s no reason Cas would be okay with Dean dating guys, and it’s not even really reasonable to expect it, considering how he probably grew up, and also, he’s a _ghost_ and he’s been dead for a long time and why his opinion should matter anyway is completely beyond comprehension. 

On day three, Dean stops by with a white chocolate latte, Cas’s favorite so far. He takes the top off the cup and sets it under the tree he thinks of as theirs. He’s planned things to say, but it’s hard to say them, so he just rambles quietly under his breath. “I don’t know what they told you about people like me,” he starts out slowly, speaking low into the early morning light. “Maybe that we’re broken or deviant or that...we hurt people. And I don’t expect you to change your mind, you know? I mean, can’t teach a dead dog new tricks, right?” He lets out one tiny whisper of a laugh and then chokes on it. 

“I ah, I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do. Disgusted or whatever. We’re all a product of our upbringing, right? But you were a really good friend and I don’t hold it against you or anything. I really...I know you’re—you were—you _are_ a good person or whatever. It meant a lot, the time we got to spend together, so thanks. You know, for that. For listening to me for as long as you did. For being a friend.”

He doesn’t want to give up, but this is Cas’s place. He takes a deep breath. “I won’t come back. I know it’s uncomfortable, probably, for me to be here. I just...I wanted you to know that. Okay?” He looks around, and he’s sort of hoping Cas will appear and apologize or explain or even be angry, but of course he doesn’t. “Okay, then. Guess...guess this is good-bye.”

He gets in the impala and starts her up.

“Dean.”

Dean jumps and looks over, and Cas has flickered into existence on the passenger side of the car, eyes trained studiously ahead.

“Cas. I, ah, I didn’t mean—”

“Dean. Let me—” His voice is rough and harsh with something like...like _agony_. It stops him cold. The ghost takes a long, shuddering breath. “I...I had a good life, here.” He speaks slowly, like the words are being dragged out of him. “In this house. Hannah was a good wife. She was loyal and true and really...a great mother to our children, and a good friend to me. And…I...”

He trails off, and his voice is so worn, so broken that Dean wants to reach out, but he doesn’t. 

He waits.

“My parents were very religious. I was taught very young how _sick_ people were who...who felt like that. Who… So, I told myself it didn’t mean anything. I had a good life, Dean. I just...I never...I _wish—_ ” His voice breaks and he looks down, looks destroyed, looks broken.

Dean feels suddenly sick—too warm, too cold, too _much_ and it’s _worse_ , it’s worse knowing that it’s not hatred on Cas’s side, it’s something else, and just thinking about Cas having gone through that, of having never been able to do anything about it, having him so close, now— 

Dean reaches for his hand and it passes right through to the seat, and he realizes that there are tears on his face, and he’s afraid as fuck about where this is going because it just might break him, too.

Cas is talking and he’s really crying now and his voice keeps breaking, “I wish it had been different then. And… _damn it_ , I wish it was different now, when _you—_ You. And, um, and—” He looks up as if he can will the tears to stop and his breathing is ragged. Dean can hardly breathe with the way his entire body feels ripped open.

“Yeah, Cas,” he finally says. “Me too.” The tears are falling, now, over his face and down the lines of his throat. “Me too.” He slides across the seat, sitting as close as he can without accidentally ending up in the ghost, and wishes more than anything in the world that it was ninety years ago and he could hold Cas’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Jesse have sex, but it is not described in any detail.
> 
> Dean tells Cas he had a date with a guy and Cas disappears, and Dean assumes it's because he's homophobic.
> 
> Cas's family was homophobic and so Cas just shoved down his feelings for men.
> 
> Cas admits to Dean that he's gay and that he suppressed that his whole life and now he wishes things were different.


	8. In which Dean takes baby steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot on Dean's mind and he can't really talk to anyone about it. But he can mend some bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long time, I'm sorry about that. I'd hoped to have another section done (which would be part of this chapter) but I don't really want to delay this for another few days to get that part completed, so, here you are! Happy New Year! I hope you're all doing well, and I hope you know I appreciate you all so very much! I hope you enjoy this small offering, I'll try to post the second half of this section next Monday or sooner.

Dean stands outside Charlie’s door for a good five minutes, staring at the eye of Sauron sticker around her peephole and trying not to crush the flowers he brought—a thoroughly inadequate apology. 

She’s invited him over at least once a week since his ill-fated date with Jesse, and he hasn’t responded even once. Even when he considers how much leeway she gives him, he’s not sure what his reception will be.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and lifts his fist to knock.

Charlie throws herself at him the moment she gets the door open, and hugs him like he didn’t ghost her for almost a month. “I’m so glad you made it,” she whispers gently, still clinging like a spider monkey. It’s like she knows there’s something wrong.

“Me too,” he tells her, holding a little too tight.

He lets go and they share a smile. 

“What can I get you?” she finally asks, lightening the mood. She heads for the little kitchen and opens the fridge.

“Some water for your daisies? And, ah, got an IPA in there?”

“Ah, sweet!” She peeks up over the door and grins. “Orange, my favorite!”

“I know.” He can’t help but smile back. She’s contagious.

“All right, water and IPA coming up. Are we drowning our sorrows tonight?”

He takes a deep breath. “Nah. Just out of sorts I guess. I have a friend...he’s just been having a hard time.”

She slams the caps off on the counter and hands him his bottle in exchange for the flowers. She puts them in a vase as she speaks. “That’s awful.” She looks over. “Can I help? I mean, a good game night can fix a lot of ills, and when that fails, y’know, sometimes some computer magic can help.” She waves the fingers of her free hand.

“Oh he’s not...he’s not local and it’s not that kinda hard time.”

She smiles, eyes narrow and scheming. “ _Oh!_ Is this that Cas guy that you were _definitely_ not interested in that, I’m thinking, maybe, you kinda are?”

Dean chuckles. “Ah, Charles.” He takes a sip to buy some time. “Yeah, it’s Cas, but it’s not like that. He’s just having a tough time and I don’t know how to help, you know. From so far away.” The feeling that’s been making him constantly queasy rises up again and he sets his beer down. 

He’s never felt the differences between him and Cas as keenly as he has the past week. Every single moment they’re together, there's the unfathomable space of their inability to touch, and that niggling feeling that there's something there, between them. And, yet. None of it’s worth saying aloud. Not to Cas and not to Charlie, because Cas is _dead_.

“There’s a lot you can do from far away, Dean,” Charlie says, heading into the living room and collapsing onto the couch. “Talking, for one. Let him talk through it. A sympathetic ear goes a long way. And maybe you can send him something, right? Like, his favorite snack food, or something he’d find comforting—a drink, a blanket...just something to let him know you’re thinking of him.”

Dean sits next to her. He nods a few times, unable to speak for a long moment. He swallows. “Guess you have a lot of practice with Dorothy, huh?” he finally manages, hoping she’ll take the conversation in a new direction.

“I do. It helps a lot, Dean. You don’t have to be there to show that you care.” She tips until her head is resting on his shoulder. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Nothing against you, kiddo.”

“Oh, I never take your toxic masculinity personally,” she says easily.

He glares at her. “Dude, I’m bi!”

She rolls her head up to catch his eye and quirk an eyebrow. “You are not immune to the influence of the patriarchy, Dean. By which I mostly mean, your dad.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not wanting to talk doesn’t mean I’m _repressed_ , I just don’t want to talk about it. I was promised a movie, can we do that?”

Charlie sighs. “Of course, of course. I’ve got four queued up cause it seemed like...you know. It might be that kind of night.”

Dean smiles and relaxes back into the couch. “You’re so right.”

Charlie hits the remote and Star Wars, Episode 4 starts up. Dean can finally take a breath.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Is Jesse okay?”

Charlie squeezes his arm. “Yeah, he’s good. He’s back with Cesar, they’re doing really well.”

“I’m glad.”

“Shhh, the movie’s starting,” she says, taking his hand. Something unknots inside him and he has to take another big breath to keep it from lodging in his throat. He hadn’t realized just how tense he’d been, how much he’d dreaded her wrath, feared her disdain. He pulls her close and kisses the top of her head.

It feels good to be forgiven.

* * *

Charlie’s advice is useless, of course. Cas can’t _use_ anything Dean can send him. And Dean can listen, but he can’t really _sympathize_ , can he? He doesn’t know anything about how life was when Cas was alive, what it was like with his family... What can he possibly say? _Sorry you were kept in the closet your entire life, and that I fucked up your afterlife by bringing it up in a stunningly callous way?_

They’d been skirting around it since that awkward moment in the car, where Dean should have said something and didn’t. The moment is gone. And while, in that moment, he’d thought Cas was trying to say he had feelings for Dean, that seems less and less likely as time goes by.

Dean does his best not to think about how he feels. It doesn’t really matter, anyhow.

So, when Dean calls Jo at the Roadhouse and orders a black and bleu burger, garlic fries, a bourbon steak and sweet potato parmesan fries, he’s just thinking about having an easy dinner and then some leftovers for lunch.

“ _Whoa, big guy. Big ‘dine-in’ kinda date tonight?_ ” she asks archly.

“Can’t a guy plan ahead? Just get me my food and stow the commentary, huh? It’s been a long day.”

“ _Touchy, touchy. Chill, man, it’s already in. We’ll have it for you in twenty. And...you know. Take a breath, ‘kay_?”

“Whatever,” he mutters. Then, grudgingly, “Thanks, Jo.”

_“You got it, handsome.”_

It doesn’t mean anything. A guy’s allowed to order out and bring food home. Since he’s already made plans to stop by to see Cas, it just makes sense. He’ll be getting home late and won’t have much time to cook.

He picks up the food from Oscar at the bar, managing to escape the third degree from Jo. He leaves a good tip and then gets out of there before any of the nosy crew can catch sight of him.

* * *

The food smells amazing when he pulls up across from the house. He grabs the bag while he waits for Cas. He’s torn between what to open first. It feels rude to eat food in front of someone. Especially if it’s something they’d like, like the bourbon steak. 

“Hello, Dean,” and Dean jumps.

He smiles before he looks over, heart slowing. “Cas. Good to see you, man.”

Cas gives him a small smile, a little tight around the eyes. “Rowena wants you to come inside.”

The light buzzing in his stomach sinks like a stone. “Oh, God, what now? You didn’t tell her I was mean to you, did you? I think she’d literally skin me alive.”

“She said you’re hurting her reputation with the neighbors by ‘lurking.’” His fingers curl around the last word and Dean grins.

“I love—those dorky finger quotes, buddy. So, on a scale of one to ten, how weird is this gonna be?”

Cas shrugs. “She’s generally opinionated but not subtle in her affections. Or lack thereof. So I think you’ll know very quickly if she’s upset. She didn’t seem angry when she told me to have you come in. She seemed distracted, actually.”

“That sounds like it might be good?”

“You could come in and find out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Let’s do that.” Dean puts Baby in gear and pulls into the driveway.

“What am I smelling?” Cas asks wistfully.

“Oh, I picked up dinner on the way over,” Dean says, heart rate picking up even as he keeps his voice nonchalant. “I had a long day, I just wasn’t up to cooking. You know how it is.” He closes his eyes. He keeps making the stupidest comments. It’s like Cas brings out the dumbass in him. “Probably not, huh?”

“I may not have done much cooking, but I do know what a long day feels like,” Cas tells him, voice tinged in amusement.

“Right, right. You get it.”

“I do. Why don’t you bring it inside with you?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s really polite to invite myself for dinner. Do you think? I guess I have an extra meal.” The idea of feeding Rowena irritates him, but he shoves it down. It wasn’t like he had very specific plans for that steak, or anything.

“Or you can leave it?”

Everything will be cold and congealed shortly. The fries will be limp. There will be no smell of bourbon steak left for anyone to enjoy. 

Dean grimaces. “All right. Well, let’s see what she wants, huh?”

He gets out of the car and makes his way to the front door, only to just miss being smacked in the face with it as Rowena strides through.

“Goodness,” she exclaims. “I thought you were going to take all night out here!”

“Hey, there, Rowena,” Dean says uncertainly. “Cas said I should come in?”

“Oh, yes.” She touches his arm, fixing him with a strangely motherly gaze. “You’re lurking, dear. You look very questionable out there in that ridiculous muscle car. You need to park in the driveway like an actual guest. You and Cas can have coffee in the living room in the morning. I’m generally out in the garden til at least ten in any case. You won't even know I'm here!” She gives him two quick pats to the shoulder and then gives him a disconcertingly wide smile. “Now, don't keep Cas waiting. And lock up when you go, won’t you? Ta!” She breezes past him toward the garage.

“I’m—what? Rowena!”

“Can’t talk, I’ll be late.” She waves over her shoulder. “No snooping, now, I’ll know. Enjoy your evening, boys!”


End file.
